Falling
by Deanna.Price
Summary: "I just need us... I need us to be friends again If not my husband, I need a friend." A short story about Lucille's struggle with her husband, Negan, and her cancer.
1. Chapter 1: Weakness

Summary: "I just need us... I need us to be friends again. If not my husband, I need a friend." A short story about Lucille's struggle with her husband, Negan, and her cancer. (Maybe 3-5 chapters)

Falling

Chapter 1: Weakness

It wasn't that he was disappointing, it was more so that he was consistently disappointing.

They had settled into a routine. He rushed out of the house every evening after work to meet his friends near the bar, eager to be away from her-to leave her alone in an empty house. And when he spoke to her he always felt unreachable, lightyears away. His perfect smile no longer reached his eyes, looking strangely miserable on his face despite the forced upturn of his lips. Their interactions were reduced to rushed conversations and accidental grazes of bodies within the kitchen. The only time he touched her now was at night after he collapsed onto their bed, passed out and drunk. The perfume that lingered on his clothes when he laid beside her in their bed never failed to make her cringe as he spooned her, holding her close to his chest as if nothing was amiss.

Lucille knew her husband was disloyal, and Negan had enough respect for his wife not to act as if she were too stupid to see it.

It was a odd sort of impass they had reached, neither willing to mention it, carrying on with their marriage as if they were both happy, pride keeping them silent. They were both far too stubborn to admit that they were a good way from being happily married.

He didn't go to any particular lengths to hide the affair, though it wasn't exactly dinner conversation. He had never been a liar; Negan was direct and brutally honest. Lucille was positive her husband had never tiptoed around anything in his life, and she had always enjoyed that particular quality in him.

Now she almost wished he would try to hide it, desperate to hear the lies leaving his lips, to bask in their poisonous comfort. But he wouldn't even grant her that mercy.

No, he was not a liar.

"Negan," she called when she saw him grab his coat and move to jet out the door in the foyer. "Where are you going?" If he was surprised she asked he didn't show it.

"Out to get a fucking drink. Maybe get my dick a little wet." he answered shortly, his hand resting against the silver handle of the door. He said it like it was a joke, as if she weren't here sitting by herself while he did just that.

"You've been out drinking almost every night this week." She tried not to make it sound like an accusation, wanting to keep the peaceful dynamic they had in place, dsyfunctional as it was. "I made dinner." Lucille was sure he knew it was more of a plea than anything else. She needed him, if only tonight.

"I'll fucking skip it."

Her heart sank. She stood with her fingers clenched tight around the envelope in her hands, knuckles turning white. "Negan, I want to talk to you. I'd really like it if you fucking didn't." The edges of his eyes narrowed at the acidic bite in her tone.

"We don't need to talk. There's nothing to goddamn talk about. You know how shit is, what's the fucking point of going on about it."

"Negan, it's not about-

"I'm going the fuck out I said. Eat by you damn self." He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Lucille with feelings of frustration and a twisted kind of resentment lining the insides of her heart.

She clasped the envelope close to her chest.

She didn't want to miss him. He didn't deserve it. But she did.

She sat at the kitchen table by herself like she did each night, the emptiness of their home more deafening now than ever.

They lived in a modest house, her husband being a high school gym coach, and Lucille an elementary school teacher. They couldn't afford anything too extravagant on just teacher's salaries, but both were already content with what they had. It had two small floors, with a garage and no backyard. The hallway near the front door had a bathroom to the left, and a kitchen on the right, the living room situated further down. Upstairs was a decent sized bedroom and another bathroom, larger than the one downstairs.

With Negan around the house was never quiet. Sometimes he would talk even Lucille wasn't listening. But now without him Lucille found the absence of sound disconcerting.

Her fingers curled inward, flexing nervously. The envelope rested in front of her, a cruel reminder of everything wrong in the world.

She took a deep breath, peeling open the seal at the top.

 _Dear Lucille,_

 _Nothing in my career in medicine has prepared me for the task of being the one to regretfully inform you of this news. As a doctor I dispense advice on a daily basis, but those interactions remain strangely impersonal. However, as your friend, having this tragic disease reach my inner circle breaks my heart in more ways than you can imagine._

 _No one can know exactly what it feels like to be facing serious cancer, unless they have been through it themselves. Your doctors will not know, the rest of your family will not know, neither will your friends. I suggest..._

Lucille read the rest of the letter, hands trembling as she blinked away the wetness in her eyes. She wiped her runny nose with the back of her sleeve as she tried to suck her quiet sobs back in. There was a list of suggested doctors and treatments, as well as a portfolio with information about the disease.

She had read it at least eight times, then again for no good reason. When she was finally done she felt exhausted, as if she were already half dead. But despite her tiredness she was still awake when Negan came home late into the night, her back facing him as she lay in the king sized bed, pillow soaked from hours of crying.

He wasn't quiet as he threw his heavy, black boots into the corner of the room and stripped out of his clothes. She heard his feet padding across the beige carpet, stopping just before the edge of the bed as he pulled back the gray comforter. Lucille didn't look at him as he laid next to her, but she turned, her arms hesitantly tangling around his waist in an awkward hug as she clung to him. His muscles jumped at the contact, and he gazed down at her in confusion.

"Lucille?" It wasn't concern, but curiousity in his voice.

She didn't answer, burying her head in his bare torso, her embrace far more tender than she was sure she had ever been with him. Her thumb stroked his abdomen gently, circling the naked skin.

He was silent for a moment. Then, "if you miss the feel of my fucking dick buried in your super hot ass all you have to do is tell me." he joked, his throaty laugh making her heart stutter.

"Shut the fuck up, Negan." The words lacked any real conviction and were halfhearted at best. She couldn't muster up the energy to be angry, not right now.

Instead, Lucille tilted her head up, kissing his lips, practically starving for the contact. To feel something, anything at all.

He didn't resist, sucking on her lower lip as he kissed her back. The way he ran his fingers along her breast distracted her, each time he kissed her leaving her breathless and feeling a bit more alive. She didn't care that another woman had, had him probably only hours before.

Lucille wasn't sure if Negan still loved her, but each touch let her believe maybe he did, even if a little. Having him here with her so intimately made her feel like she wasn't alone.

She needed to feel like she wasn't alone.

"Fuck, Lucille. What's the occasion?" Negan asked, grinning at her genuinely when they were done.

She licked her lips, her hand resting against his shoulder, Negan still kneeling over her, both of them breathing heavy from exertion. "I-I just love you, you know?"

His thick brow furrowed and he looked suspicious. Neither of them were usually overtly emotional, so she was surprised at herself for admitting it to him, and even more surprised that she still meant it. "You fucking love me? That's it? You haven't loved me in months, Lucy."

She shook her head, regarding him seriously. "No, it's true. I just want you to know...I love you. More than anyone, I think."

He scoffed, and she averted her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Go to fucking sleep, Lucille. Because we both know that's a damn lie."

"You think I shouldn't love you, that's why. But I do, Negan."

Her husband rolled off of her, lying flat on his back. "If you think I'm going to stop because of that, I fucking won't."

"I don't think you'd stop."

"Good."

He turned his back to her, and didn't touch her anymore after that. So she lay there, her body naked, feeling more vulnerable than ever, Negan just as impenetrable as he'd always been.

The silence was soon drowned out by his soft snoring. And Lucille decided she would keep the envelope in her nightstand.

She wouldn't try to tell him again.

* * *

It was strange how nothing changed when you were dying. The world continued on around her, while Lucille was stuck at a standstill. She still went to work, cleaned the house, spoke with her family and friends-but suddenly everything was pointless.

She went to every appointment, always alone. Each visit she would sit on the cold metal table, the only sound in the room a pen on paper, as the doctor took notes. No one held her hand, or comforted her. The only thing she received was a prescription and a date for the next examination.

For hours and hours she would dedicate her time to reading different articles and researching recommended treatments, thinking maybe she would find something-something that would change the outcome. But the conclusion always remained the same.

She was going to die. And life would, without question, go on.

"You have to tell him, Lucille." her sister told her from across the table, as the waiter walked away with their orders.

"Melissa, I tried. He's out the door before I can even say hello." Lucille tapped her finger along the rim of her glass. "I won't force him to be a part of my life. I can do it alone. I'll be fine."

"He's your husband! He should be part of your life. You need to talk."

"He doesn't want to fucking talk! And neither do I."

Melissa looked at her with pity, the same way the doctors looked at her. They all looked at her like she was already dead. "You haven't even told mom and dad yet, Lucy. You can't keep this from everyone who loves you!"

Lucille exhaled through her nose, glaring at her sister over her coke. "It really isn't your decision."

She left the restaurant angry and bitter. Melissa meant well, she knew. But she didn't make her feel any better. Lucille had thought if she told someone it would make her feel better.

So why didn't she?

Her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel of her silver Honda, forcing her to pull over to the side of the road. She brought her fist down against the interior of the car, frustrated.

Helplessness wasn't a feeling Lucille was accustomed to. But now she was trapped in a box and there were only walls surrounding her. There was no way to tear them down. No way out.

She sat there for a while, leaning her head back against the headrest, staring up at the roof of the car blankly.

It took twenty-five minutes before she could will herself to drive again.

When she got home she slammed the door harder than she meant to, throwing her purse on the floor.

"What's got your shit in a tizzy?"

Lucille marched past her husband, pushing him out of the way. "Why the hell are you still here?" she asked, unable to help the angry way the question came out.

"I'd say I damn near missed you, baby."

She thrust the keys down on the counter, her eyes vicious. "In case you couldn't tell-I'm not in the mood."

He smiled, his tongue slipping out between his teeth slightly. "Wow, you haven't looked at me like that in a long time. It's kind of hot, I think I've got a fucking hard on. Tell you what, I get balls deep in you tonight and maybe I'll stay home." His eyes sparkled mischievously and Lucille could feel her last nerve snap.

"You just never know when to stop, Negan. You push and you push! Sometimes-sometimes I just-" Her fists were shaking at her side and she thought she might hit him. Instead, she burst out into a unexpected sob, overwhelmed by her emotions.

Negan's demeanor changed at the sight, his hazel eyes widening. He stiffened uncomfortably, looking unsure of himself. He hesitated. "Shit, Lucille...I-

"Just stop." she commanded, blinking away her tears as suddenly as they came. It took effort to hold them back, but she did. Then, taking a deep breath, "I need us to be okay again, Negan. Do you understand?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but Lucille beat him to it. "I don't need you to stop whatever it is your doing. I don't care about that. But I need..."

Her husband gazed at her, looking uncharacteristically guilty, waiting patiently for her to finish. Negan wasn't softhearted, but Lucille didn't cry often. And now that she thought about it, maybe he had never seen her cry. "What do you need, Lucille?"

She struggled to find the words for a moment, unsure of how to voice what exactly it was she needed.

She spoke slowly, "I just need us... I need us to be friends again. If not my husband, I need a friend."

There was a heavy silence. He looked at her earnestly, no more jokes, his expression solemn. "I can fucking do that." he promised. And she believed him.

Her eyes softened, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

It was selfish. She knew that. If there was an opportunity where he could continue on and erase her from his memory it would be merciful to let him take it. Really the affair, shitty as it was, was perfect timing.

It would be ideal if he forgot her.

But she was scared. And as strong as Lucille had thought she had been, suddenly she felt oh so very weak.

Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, knowing Negan would be ashamed. She was a coward. He had always prided her on being 'the most badass bitch' he had ever seen. But really, Lucille was just a weakling. A dying woman desperately clinging to a man who didn't even want her.

Oh yes, she thought as she cupped her husband's cheek.

Negan would be so ashamed.

Dying felt strangely like falling.

Except there was no getting up again once you hit the floor.


	2. Chapter 2: Ping Pong

Falling

Chapter 2: Ping Pong

Lucille had been waiting for a friend to arrive, sipping at the liquor in front of her half heartedly when she found herself staring at the back of his black, leather jacket. It was hard to ignore the sound of his loud boasting as he strutted flamboyantly around the bar. He reminded of her of a little child vying for attention when he leaned lecherously over the counter, chatting up two beautiful women with a beer in his hand.

It took one night at a bar for Negan to bulldoze his way into her life.

He had dark, roguish features, black hair gelled back neatly in a way she thought was handsome. Brown eyes sparkled mischievously beneath his lashes, lean muscle visible underneath his jacket, his long legs toned beneath fitted jeans. Lucille would have been delighted to say the first thing she noticed about him was his charming smile, however, that wasn't quite what caught her attention.

"I'm telling you girls, with titties like those you'd make any man weak in the fuckin' knees."

The words fell from his lips with practiced ease, dirtier with every new syllable he uttered. Not even having the decency to look ashamed he took a swig of his drink, a shiteating grin on his face. Instead, he stood happily before the two woman, staring down at their breasts openly.

One of the women giggled at him, while the other looked away in annoyance, clearly put off. However, the man seemed oblivious to either of their reactions, propping his leg up on the barstool as he continued on.

The only one Lucille thought he was really interested in was himself.

"Shit, I mean. Can I be fucking frank? I wouldn't mind taking you two home and having the fuck of my life. And I'm sure your sweet, little pussies would feel amazing under my moby dick."

She felt the urge to laugh out loud, never having heard anyone speak with half of his audacity. Though admittedly, he was captivating in his own manner.

She viewed him through a sideways glance, thinking there was something decidedly suave in the way he never faltered, even if he was an idiot.

Leaning back in her chair and well onto her seventh beer, she didn't bother to hide her staring, watching him blatantly through hazel eyes.

One of the women was now shamefully pressed against him, whispering something that could be nothing short of devious into his ear. His dark eyes stared down at her curvy figure, intense and burning. There was a certain heaviness in the weight of his gaze.

"Fuck, I think my dick just died, baby. Now I'm going to have to bury it in your goddamn ass." he responded, his voice husky with desire.

Lucille snorted into her hand unable to hold back her laughter anymore, though still having enough courtesy to attempt to muffle it behind the palm her hand. It didn't quite work out as well as she expected though and she wound up letting out a loud, awkward sound, drawing attention from nearby.

In the next moment he was looking at her, and it was like the Fourth of July. Her eyes crossed paths with his, meeting his gaze as goosebumps broke out across her skin. She couldn't quite explain the reaction, but she knew it made her stomach tingle uncomfortably.

His eyes searched hers, brow furrowing slightly as he considered her. She didn't glance away, and after another few seconds his lips quirked upwards and he smirked at her, the other woman's head still buried in his shoulder.

She tried to hide her smile, eyes remaining bright even as her laughter slowly ebbed away.

He continued to hold the woman, his hands exploring her body feverishly. However, as she watched him, slightly less obviously now, she could catch him stealing glances at her.

Lucille wanted to talk to him of course. But there was no way she was going over there with that bimbo hanging off his arm. Instead, she tilted her head at him, patting the seat next to her. Not really expecting him to come, she turned her back to him, pulling out her phone.

Lucille can't make it. Fight with Ashton. Luv u grl. 3

Figures, she thought. Stuck drinking alone at one in the morning. She downed another beer, having lost count a few drinks ago.

"Well, aren't you a vision."

Lucille jumped in her seat, startled. Her head snapped to the side, looking up to meet his gaze with wide eyes. She glanced behind him, and sure enough the two woman sat, one glaring at her, clearly abandoned.

"What? You look fucking surprised."

"I didn't think-

"Gotta be honest. It was that laugh. When a girl has a good laugh, one as fuckin' genuine as yours, you don't pass up the opportunity. Especially when said woman is actually laughing at the shit that comes out of my mouth. Because that's a near damn rare occurrence."

"You don't say?"

"Couldn't imagine why that might fucking be." He sat beside her, leaning back comfortably in the chair, one leg propped up on the bottom of her stool. "Now that I came all the way over here though I gotta say-

-you're so fucking hot I could roast my meat on you, baby."

Lucille choked on her drink, nearly spilling it across the counter. "Oh god. I think I'm going to need another drink if we're going to do this."

"Shit, then the next fucking one's on me."

He ordered her something heavier than the beers she had been drinking throughout the night.

"Hope you're no lightweight." he laughed, though he gazed at faithlessly. "You need to have some high motherfucking tolerance to drink with me."

"I think I can handle it."

He spoke mostly about his escapades. Most would have been hard to believe if Lucille had been speaking to any other man, but she didn't put anything past this guy. As he spoke he inched closer, brushing against her in multiple instances. And Lucille knew it wasn't accidental. Each time he touched her was electrifying, and eventually Lucille took the initiative.

His eyes were commanding, his face rugged and sharp. He oozed of the stereotypical manliness she knew her friends daydreamed about. Lucille had to admit he was intimidating, especially with his tall stature. But despite her anxiety she summoned her courage and led him outside the bar by his large hand. He followed hot on her heels, excitement lighting up his eyes.

Lucille thought she looked nothing like the bold, sexy women he had just been chasing. She was tiny, her face rounded, spotted with light freckles. Her eyes were almond shaped, with long lashes framing soft, hazel eyes. She had medium sized breasts, small curves adorning her dainty figure.

But still he looked at her with the same heat in his gaze, maybe even more so, as if it didn't make a difference. It made her stomach do flip flops.

"Kiss me." she ordered abruptly, the booze in her system emboldening her. Ordininarily she wasn't sure if she would ever have such confidence.

He grinned, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Now I'm no weather man, but if I kiss you, I can promise you you're going to be expecting more than a few inches toni-

He stumbled into her as Lucille pulled herself forward and grabbed him by the back of his neck, pressing herself against him to shut him up. Their lips touched, hot and wet, and she felt heat pool in her lower belly as she squeezed her thighs together tightly in reflex. She kissed him slowly at first, but he was seemingly having none of it, quickening their pace with fast lips.

He was definitely more experienced than her, which she could have guessed. However, it didn't deter her because every time she fumbled he corrected her, and she reattached their lips more feveriously than before.

He backed her up until she was pressed against the hard, brick wall, bringing up his knee and prying her legs apart to place it in between them.

He broke the kiss off all of a sudden, panting heavily. "Hey," he said breathlessly, "you play ping pong?"

Lucille, caught off guard, leaned back so she could see him better. "What?"

"I was wondering if you ever played fuckin' ping pong."

"Urmm. Maybe once." she told him, even though she would rather be familiarizing their lips.

He broke out into a grin. "Good, I hope you remember. Because after I fuck you I'm taking you to play some ping pong."

Lucille laughed, "you don't even know my name."

"So I need to know your name to play ping pong, but not to pile drive my dick into you while your titties bounce up and down."

Lucille knew she should probably be offended, but instead she laughed again, finding his smile contagious. "It's Lucille." she revealed, kissing him once more.

"Negan."

Her lips twitched, wanting to smile. "Your parents must have loved you."

"Old man beat on me everyday with a fucking crowbar." he informed her, forever jolly.

"Figured as much. You just scream troubled childhood." she joked. "It's kind of late for a date though, don't you think?"

"Don't call it that. You make me sound like a fuckin' pussy."

"Okay." she responded simply, pulling him in to continue where they left off. "Not a date then." she amended as their noses touched. He smiled.

"By the way," she breathed as an afterthought, "I just thought you should know-

-your pick up lines suck."

* * *

The sex came first-

-and true to his word the date after.

"Where the hell are we gunna find a ping pong table?" Lucille questioned from the passenger seat of his black pickup truck.

"You leave that shit to me, Lucy."

"Ugh. Please don't call me that." she begged, lip curling in disgust.

"What, don't like nicknames?"

"It sounds horrible. Bad enough my sister calls me that."

Negan perked up, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. "Fan-fucking-tastic. I already have a sure fire way to piss you off. You can bet I'm going to take full fucking advantage of that."

She laughed, leaning her head against the palm of her hand as she looked toward him. "You're an asshole, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Everyone who's not a fuckin' pussy."

He leaned forward, switching on the radio. Lucille gazed at the side of his face as he looked forward toward the road.

We're on easy street and it feels so sweet,

Cause the world is but a treat when you're on easy street.

"Interesting choice in music." she commented.

"You fucking kiddin'? This song is the absolute shit."

The roads were quiet and Negan drove only fifteen minutes out of the way before he stopped in front of a school. Lucille raised her brow at him in question.

"A high school?"

"I said I damn well knew a place."

"I'm not breaking into a high school." she deadpanned.

"Hey, now hold up a fuckin' minute. It's not breaking in for me. It's just working after hours."

"You're a teacher? You?"

"That so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

"I'm a gym teacher," he clarified.

"Ah. Of course, that makes more sense."

"Should I be fucking offended?" he teased.

"Maybe." She smiled at him, giving him a sly look. "Still I don't think we should be-

"Fuck-don't tell me your a god damn stickler for the rules. I bet you're the type that's got one big certified stick up your ass."

Blushing, she glared at him. "I'm not-

"You are. I can see it. Lucille the goodie fucking toshoes. Never broke a rule in your damn life. Lucille does everything by the fucking book, knees bent and always ready to suck cock."

Lucille sucked on her cheeks in annoyance. "I'm not always ready to suck cock."

He laughed that carefree laugh. "You are so."

She opened her door more aggressively then she meant to. "Let's go then." she ordered, determined to prove him wrong.

Lucille slammed the door behind her, waiting in front of the car with her arms crossed, her leg shaking impatiently. Negan looked at her knowingly, appearing deeply amused.

By the time they snuck around back her anger had somewhat faded. Somehow he appeared to have come into possession of an extra set of keys. Lucille didn't question it. But for some reason she didn't imagine he had stole them. Negan appeared to be a smooth talker and she thought he had probably conned his way into garnering them. It seemed to fit his personality. He led her to the gym, their shoes squeaking against the floor.

"I thought you said you've played before?" he said when she missed the first couple of his serves after they had set up court.

"Once!" Lucille protested as he looked at her with accusing eyes.

"Here. You're not even fuckin' holding it right." He positioned himself behind her, readjusting her grip on the racket. Her cheeks puffed up, yanking her hand away from him.

"I can do it!"

Negan leaned back, a hand resting on his hip, looking amused. "If you knew how to do it you wouldn't be playing like a pile of shit, asstard."

"Now pay attention to what I'm about to show you because I'm tired of kicking your motherfucking ass."

Lucille had, had her fair share of boyfriends, and by the age of thirty-two she had thought she had experienced every type of man there was. But Negan, he was a bastard, she thought. There was no doubt about that. A showoff. A arrogant, manwhore with a mouth that could make a sailor blush. It should have been hard to like him, but Lucille found it wasn't.

He teased her every time she stumbled and missed a shot. He didn't sugar coat things and Lucille thought he was even intentionally mean.

"Come on princess, afraid to work up a sweat? Stop playing like a little bitch." He was a douchebag. But he was a goodnatured douchebag.

After he had sufficiently made sure he had destroyed her at ping pong-repeatedly, they took a break. Lucille and Negan both sat beside eachother on the bleachers of the gymnasium bathed in light perspiration. Lucille swung her feet back and forth admiring the morning light as it poured in through the windows.

"Do you really like ping pong, or do you just like it because you're good at it?" she asked knowingly.

He held up his hands, smiling as cute dimples indented his cheeks. "You caught me, doll." Swinging his arm around her waist, he pulled her into his side. "Shit. You just see right fuckin' through me."

"It's not hard to figure out that you just like showing off."

"Am I that transparent?"

Lucille grinned, "Like glass."

"Lucille," It was the first time he said her name properly, and Lucille felt her heart warm in her chest. "I have to fucking say. You were one of the best damn fucks of my shitty life."

The warmth evaporated and she slapped him on his arm. He grinned.

"That being said. I think you could fuckin' benefit from takin' down my digits."

"Oh really?"

"Ab-so-fucking-lutely."

"I think you just want to kick my ass in ping pong again."

"See, you just see right fuckin' through me, Lucy."

"Always."

It took one night at a bar for Negan to bulldoze his way into her life-

-the wreckage he would leave behind irreparable.

Her heart broken apart and ground into fine dust.

 **A/N: hey guys. I know it's been a while. Sorry for the slow update..I'm currently rewriting a lot of my stories and have been swamped with work. Thanks to all those who reviewed and followed!**


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